


Fireside

by walkingsaladshooter



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Anna Wearing Kristoff's Sweater, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingsaladshooter/pseuds/walkingsaladshooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting caught in a cold spring rainstorm, Anna's hoping for something a little more interesting than tea to warm her up again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireside

 

Early spring in Arendelle means an abundance of cold, rainy days. Kristoff likes the little house the princess and queen secured for him in town (as is befitting the Ice Master and Deliverer, even if he sometimes still sleeps in a pile of hay on warm nights because frankly a roof and four walls gets a bit claustrophobic sometimes, even if it's a roof and four walls he likes), especially the way he can hear the rain pattering on the roof and window-sills. He's always liked the sound of rain. Just not so much the getting caught in it and getting soaked.

 Which is why he's building up a fire in the fire place. He's warm and dry and enjoying the sound of the rain, but Anna is late, and by this point she'll be soaked through by the time she arrives.

 There's a knock on the door, and Kristoff crosses the room to open it. And there she is, hair plastered to her forehead with rain, shivering and thoroughly soaked, clutching a small bag against her ribs. "Hi," she says, and she steps past him into the house.

 "Hi yourself. You know, you wouldn't have gotten all wet if you'd been here an hour ago like you said you would."

 "I know, I know." Anna wrings water out of the ends of her braids, then opens the bag she's carrying. She pulls out a handful of dark blue ribbons embroidered with silver thread. "But the market was so perfect today before the rain started, and won't these look pretty in Elsa's braid?"

 Kristoff can't help smiling when she's so excited. "Yeah. They will."

 "So it's worth it," Anna says, setting down her purchase on the table and crossing over to the fire. "Ooh, I'm so glad you made this." She kicks off her boots and then begins fumbling with the laces on her vest.

 He feels his face grow warm. "Um-- what are you doing?"

 She glances at him over her shoulder. "Taking off my freezing cold wet clothes." Kristoff sputters a little, and Anna rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, Kristoff. I don't have to get completely naked." Then she grins, her profile illuminated by the firelight, and says, "Not like you haven't seen that before."

 "I'm saying-- I mean I'm not saying--" She's doing this on purpose. Again. Kristoff takes a deep breath and goes to the stove, deliberately not ogling her as she slides off her vest and drops it to the floor. "I can make some tea if you want it."

 "Mm, that sounds good."

 He dares a glance back over. Mistake. His breath comes short for a second when he sees her fidgeting with the waistband of her skirt. Her blouse is wet, just as wet as her vest and skirt, and it's clinging to every line of her supple little body in a decidedly unfair way. When she reaches behind herself to the small of her back and unhooks her skirt's fastenings, the movement thrusts forward her breasts, and Kristoff fumbles with the cups he was holding. "What-- what are you doing?"

 "Skirt's wet too," she says, not looking at him. "It's  _chafing_ , Kristoff."

 "Right. Right."

 Anna wiggles her hips, and her skirt and underskirt fall into a heap around her. She's in just her blouse and her underthings and a very long pair of dark green knitted socks, and she steps a little closer to the fire, shivering a bit as she reaches her hands towards it. Kristoff knows he's ogling now, or at least staring in amazement, like he always does, always surprised, somehow, at just how beautiful she is, and always grateful, deeply grateful, that he's the one who gets to see her like this. Then she turns and looks up at him, and she smiles and says, "My nose is awfully cold. Don't you want to come kiss it?"

 And that's more than enough. He leaves the stove and comes to stand in front of her. She's smiling up at him in the way that always stirs something warm inside him, and he takes her face in his hands, gently, and kisses the tip of her nose. It's cold, so he kisses it again, and again, until she giggles. Kristoff drops his hands to take hold of hers. "Hm," he says. "Your fingers are cold, too." And he lifts her hands and holds them in front of his chest, and he bends down his head to kiss each fingertip.

 But she's still shivering, just a little. So he brushes his hands against her shoulders, feeling how damp and chilly her blouse is. "Would you be more comfortable with this off?"

 She looks up at him, smiling. "I really would. Do you have a big warm sweater I can wrap up in? A clean one, preferably?"

 He grins and kisses her forehead. "Yeah. Let me get you one."

 Kristoff goes over into his adjoining bedroom and rifles through his small collection of shirts. He finds a brown sweater (which is, in fact, clean), drapes it over his arm, and brings it back to the main room. And then he stops in the doorway, feeling his pulse quicken.

 Anna's sitting on the rug in front of the fire, wearing nothing but her undergarments and those long, knitted socks, which are even longer than he thought. They go halfway up her thighs, and Kristoff clears his throat before crossing the room. He holds out the sweater. "Here."

 She glances up and grins. "You're blushing."

 "Yeah. Well."

 She takes the sweater as he sits next to her on the floor, and she turns away a little. "Now don't ogle while I undress," she says. "I am a princess, after all."

 "Right."

 And she laughs a little, softly, and begins unlacing her jumps. It's a thin garment, just padded cotton, really, softer against her body than a corset or stays but every bit as shapely, and Kristoff watches her long, slender fingers unthread the laces. Then she says "Kris-toff" in a sing-song tone, and he apologizes and looks up at the ceiling. She laughs again, and there's a soft rustle of fabric and an adorable little grunt, and then when he looks again she's sitting there, still wearing those socks, his sweater practically swallowing her up.

 "You're staring," she says softly.

 Kristoff runs a hand through his hair. "Well. You look-- you look perfect."

 She blushes, just a little, and she bites her lower lip. "You could look perfect, too, you know."

 "Wait, what?"

 She leans forward, and the collar of the sweater dips down, offering him almost the glimpse he wants underneath it. "You should get a little less bundled. And then you should snuggle with me. Warm me up."

 "I was going to make tea, you know. To warm you up."

 "Mm." Anna reaches out one hand, her gaze dropping down as she plays with the waistband of his pants. "I like this way better."

 And as usual, she doesn't have to twist his arm. Kristoff tugs off his own sweater, and Anna's gaze sweeps over his broad chest, and she scoots over and melts against him, twining her arms around his waist. "Much better," she murmurs. Her legs are stretched out so very, very nicely across the floor, and Kristoff scoots down onto his hip, then onto his side, lying across the rug with her. Anna turns against him, pressing her upper arms against his chest as he winds his own arms around her middle. She crosses her legs over his, and she tips up her chin and smiles at him. "Much, much better."

 "Sometimes you have good ideas," he says, and it comes out much smoother than he thought it would, considering how the feeling of her body pressed full against his is setting off explosions in his brain. She shifts her hips, rubbing against him a little, and he stares down at her for a moment before pulling her up to him and kissing her.

 She responds instantly, enthusiastically, her fingers skating around his sides and then pressing against his back. Her lips are warm, her body is warming against him, and she pulls at him as she parts her lips and lets his tongue slide in against hers. He firms his hands against her sides, fingers pressing against her soft skin through the thick wool of the sweater. She's sparking like she always does, drawing him in, and he turns, rolling her onto her back and settling over her. Anna makes a soft, wanting sort of noise against his mouth and hooks her feet up over his legs, pulling him down closer to her. He's careful -- she's so small, he's always careful with his weight on top of her -- but he presses full against her, and he feels her smile and wind her fingers into his hair.

 "Maybe," she breathes, as he turns his head and begins kissing down her neck, "you should take off those pants."

 "Don't rush me, highness," he says. His face is pressed against her warm skin, right at the curve of where her neck meets her shoulder, and she's shivering as he flicks his tongue against her freckled skin.

 "Pants. Off. Now." And she grabs his waistband and tugs until he laughs against her shoulder and reaches down, helping her shove them down around his hips. He rolls off to the side to kick them off, and Anna grins and says, "That's more like it," and angles his head down so she can press her mouth against the spot at the top of his jaw that always makes him squirm.

 "Your stupid sweater," he manages.

 " _Your_  stupid sweater," she corrects. But she splays her hands against his chest, pushing him up, and then tugs the sweater up over her head, dropping it off to the side.

 And Kristoff tries very hard firstly to remember how to breathe, and secondly not to descend on her and, well, ravage her, to be frank. Because she's lying there on the carpet, her back arched a little and her breasts pert and her eyes absolutely warm and glowing, and she's wearing nothing but those long socks. And then she grins and bites her lip and says, "Well?"

 "Well." And he takes in the sight of her for a moment longer, and then he gives in and grabs her in his arms and kisses her, hard.

 She twines herself around him, making sighs and small noises as his kisses move from her mouth to her neck to her shoulders, graze over her collarbone, linger on her breasts. His hands can't stop moving, yearning to touch every inch of her, every span of warm skin (which is warm, now, from the fire and his own heat against her, no longer chilled and damp); and her own hands run up and down his back, grasp at his hips, fist in his hair when he leaves warm, wet kisses against her stomach. And then she's pulling at him, angling her hips up, biting her lip and catching his gaze and absolutely burning up at him, and he's full of rushing, of want and heat and dizziness, and he takes her hips in his firm hands and she reaches down and guides him into her.

 He enters slowly -- he always does because she's so small and he's so, well, proportionate -- but soon she's wrapping herself around him, gasping into his ear as he presses his face against her neck, and she's so warm and lithe against him as she starts to move with him, against him, with him, finding her footing in the rhythm he's building. She smells amazing and feels amazing and he's losing himself in her until she turns her face against the side of his and says in his ear, "You know, you don't--" And her sentence is lost in a gasp as he bites her neck a little, and then all she says instead is, "Harder."

 The word alone would be enough to undo him. But there's also her voice, so aching and low, and the warm rush of her breath against his skin, and that's beyond enough. Kristoff pushes himself up so he can see her, the dark light in her eyes; and he thrusts harder, a little faster. Anna starts making the most perfect sounds, her hands clutching at his forearms as he props himself up for better leverage. The slope of her shoulders and the way she keeps biting her lip and the curve of her neck and how everything about her is so soft and glowing and delicately shadowed by the firelight is too much, and he grabs her braids and tugs her head to the side, a little hard. But she grins when he does; and when he lowers his head and presses his tongue against the hollow of her throat, she moans his name.

 He tastes her skin a little longer, but then he feels himself starting to tighten, and through the fog of pleasure he remembers she hasn't come yet (he can always tell; she's demonstrative in this as in everything). So he sits up, shifting carefully for a moment, then holds her leg up over his thigh and keeps rolling his hips against her. She reaches down, skimming her fingers against his forearm, until he presses his thumb between her legs. Then Anna forgets about touching him; she's crying out, and she's pressing her fingers hard against the rug and bucking her hips against him until she completely unravels, and thank god for the pounding pour of the rain because he has neighbors and she's not even pretending to keep quiet. And once she's done, Kristoff grabs her waist and hauls her up until she's sitting over him, and he buries his face against her and clings to her, gets lost in the grip of her hands on his back and shoulders, her heavy breath in his ear, until he finishes.

 For a few moments, there's nothing but her hands still tangled in his hair, the soft rush of both of their breaths, the crackle of the fire, the soft knit of her socks still pressed against his hips. Anna leans back, still sitting on him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders. She strokes them lightly, lazily, and he shivers as she sighs.

 Kristoff is sweating and trying to catch his breath and is lost somewhere blissful, but he feels her lean back in again to press a slow kiss against his forehead. Her lips are warm, and it's so sweet and gentle, and it grounds him. She wraps her arms around his neck and rests her forehead against his, and he lifts one hand to brush against her cheek and rest there, softly, even as his chest heaves. "See," she murmurs, her voice low and relaxed. "That was a much better way to warm me up than tea." And Kristoff grins and laughs a little, and he lifts his face to kiss her.


End file.
